"And three little lines..."

I'm not allowed to measure things in our house. Mostly because of the incident with the stairs but also because one time Bruce asked me how long something was and I said, "14 inches and one...two...three little lines." Apparently that was not the right answer.

We also learned I have zero depth perception to go along with my masterful measuring skills. Bruce asked me to cut out a piece of plywood to make the new landing for the attic stairs. I was very proud of myself when I measured and drew out the whole thing since it has a ton of angles and corners in order to fit around doors and walls. Apparently, even though I followed the rules and "measured twice to cut once" my measuring skills are so horrid that when we went to lay down the cut board it didn't fit. At all. In any way. In fact it looked like a dyslexic blind toddler cut it. Seven cuts later Bruce jammed it into place and we don't talk about it. Ever.

In February Bruce was getting ready to fly to San Diego for business. I helped him pack his suitcase with the suit we scrambled to get (that's a whole other story) and the 500 other things he needed. By the time we were finished the thing weighed a ton and Bruce was sitting down to do his pre check-in thingy online. Apparently it asks how heavy your checked bags are. Approximately.

I lifted it by the handle, thought for a second and said, "It's approximately two Daisies heavy."